


Worthwhile (Version 2.0)

by Control_Room, Keleficent



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Canon Divergence - A Tale of Two Stans, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10049282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keleficent/pseuds/Keleficent
Summary: My buddy, Control_Room, did her own version of my story, Worthwhile. Which I honestly think is an improvement over my original one. She insisted she wanted me to publish under my name, but not without giving her credit.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Worthwhile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6767152) by [Keleficent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keleficent/pseuds/Keleficent). 



_“I’m giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won’t even listen.”_

Stan had stormed out when Ford said that. His brother’s words haunted him because they confirmed and set in stone what he feared all along. His brother, his former best friend, believes he’s never done anything worthwhile in his entire life. Anything and everything, all Stan had ever done, he took every step for his family, and his own twin brother thought he was worthless.

And, despite the hopes cast onto a wish and a prayer, Stan knew he was right. Stan has known it all along. All his lying, cheating and stealing amounted to absolutely nothing. Zilch. He finally had the one chance to have his brother back, and he completely ruined it. He should have just done what Ford wanted. They’d be apart, sure, but at least Ford would care about him again.

He shivered and tried to bundle his jacket more tightly around himself only realize it wasn’t there. He had to have left it at Ford’s house, there was nowhere else he had been. Great, now he had to go back and admit to that smug nerd ~~of a jerk~~ that he left his jacket behind like the moron he was. He hoped Ford would even be gracious enough to let him get his jacket so he didn’t freeze to death.

Then again… would his brother even care? For all he knew, Stan could have been dead these past ten years, and he nearly was many times. All those times he faced death,looking it in the eye, whether by his someone else’s hand or his own, he asked himself if anyone would even miss him if he was gone. Ford always came to mind. It was a flimsy hope, but it was the only one that gave Stan the will to survive.

Maybe he should just bite the bullet and risk the trek back to town. It seemed just as futile. No one would care if he didn’t make it back. So, why should he?

_“I’m giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life…”_

Why should he?

**_“I’m giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing…”_ **

There was still one worthwhile thing he can do.

_**“…first worthwhile thing in your l i f e …”** _

He could, and would, rid the world of Stanley Pines for good.

He dropped to his knees, the snow softening the fall. He scooped the snow surrounding him into a pile, just like how he used to make a snowman back in Glass Shard Beach, with Ford. He used the pile as his pillow as he laid on his back. He extended his arms and legs like when he used to make snow angels. But he didn’t move a muscle. He was still as death.

Due to the painful fact that he rarely had a roof over his head, he had to regulate himself to the warmer, southern states. He hadn’t seen snow in years. He always loved the snow. Because of his dangerous lifestyle and all those out for his blood, Stan thought his death would ultimately be more gruesome. Freezing to death didn’t seem like a terrible way to die. It’ll be quite easy, seemingly like going to sleep. He had fallen asleep in the cold plenty of times. Now, all that he needed to do was let his body go numb and relax…

* * *

 

Ford was getting worried. He clutched the jacket that Stan had forgotten when he stormed off tightly against his chest. He had gotten concerned when Stan didn’t come back right away. How on Earth was it possible that Stan could not notice he didn’t have it? He should have to come back eventually, right? After a few nerve wracking minutes, he decided he had had enough anxiety for three lifetimes. He grabbed his coat and decided to go after Stan and meet him halfway.

As Ford searched for his brother, he had quite enough time to contemplate his actions. In a sudden wave of crashing guilt, he instantly regretted his harshness towards his brother. Truthfully, in retrospect, he should have understood why Stan would get upset. He literally hadn’t seen him in years, and the first thing he does, in contact, is summon him out of the blue so that Stan could do him a favor. A favor asking him to go away from him once again. He at the very least owed Stan an explanation.

Looking up and squinting into the bright snowy expanse, Ford saw something up ahead. It seemed to be a person laying on the ground. Though, it obviously wasn’t just any person….

“Stanley?” Ford asked cautiously as he crept over to the supine individual’s side. It was Stanley. Of course it was. It had to be. There was no one else it could be. “Stanley, are you okay?”

Stan gave several morbidly blank blinks before finally acknowledging his brother’s presence. He merely stared at his older twin before slurring, “What are you doing here?”

“You forgot your jacket, you knucklehead,” Ford tried to put it on him, but Stan swatted at him. “For G-d’s sa–”

“Leave me alone.” The words came out as a dejected sigh.

“Stanley, I need to get you out of the cold.” Ford attempted to help his brother up, but he rebuffed him once again.

“Go away.” A silent plea underlay the gruff command. But what it was, Ford could not tell.

“Stanley, do you want to freeze to death?” Stanford tried to keep the snappiness from his tone. Yet… his brother said nothing. Ford’s insides twisted as the horrifying implications of Stan’s silence set in, penetrating deep into every single fibre in his frame. “No… no, Stanley, you can’t… no….”

“You don’t have to pretend to care, Stanford. Just go back to your mysteries. I’ll be out of your life soon enough.” Stan’s eyes hardened momentarily, then closed as he turned his head to the opposite side and almost impatiently waited for Ford to walk away, abandoning him for the last time. Instead, he lowered himself to the ground to lay beside Stan. Stan groggily turned back to face him, brown eyes piercing and searching, eyebrows knitted together. He opened his mouth ever so slightly to ask… “What are you doing?”

“… I’m not leaving without you.” The question had caught Ford off guard, but it really shouldn’t have. Stanley was Stanley, always looking for the answer right in front of him.

“And what?” Stan scoffed, but it lacked bite. “Die with me?”

“If you won’t come with me,” Ford squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rationalize his words, only finding no way to do so. “Then…”

“Then what?” Stan inquired tiredly. G-d, he sounded so worn.

“I came into the world with you,” he swallowed and opened his eyes, letting the snow blind him in beauty once more. “I can leave this world with you too.”

Stan literally could not believe this. It hurt to think about this entire paradoxical situation. It was driving him up the wall. First, Ford dismisses him as worthless. Now, Ford was playing chicken with his life for him? He can’t take much more of this emotional tug of war.

“Are you serious?” Stan said weakly, hating how his voice came out as barely above a whisper. He could always tell when Ford was bluffing. But this time, there was no mischievous twinkle in his eyes, his lips did not twitch. It astonished him to extremes. “You’re serious.”

Ford had given him absolutely no choice. Stan begrudgingly sat up, using all his willpower and putting in all his strength. He reluctantly held out his arms so Ford could put on his jacket, which he did with the utmost amount of care. Ford then gently helped him up, arm under arm. Yet, as soon as Stan had been sure of his footing and he stood, his body seized up and collapsed, refusing to function as he desired it to.

“Stanley, come on,” Ford said calmly, but hidden beneath his voice was panic. “Get up.”

“I… I can’t.” The cold settled deep into Stan’s bones. It paralyzed him.

“It’s alright,” Ford insisted as put his brother’s arm around his shoulder to support him as they walked back. He was alarmed by how Stanley’s shivering gradually slowed. “I- I’ll help you.”

Stan fitfully collapsed once again, nearly knocking Ford over as well.

“I- I don’t think I can make it, Ford…” his voice shook and his body barely trembled.

“Yes, yes, Stan, you can,” Ford’s own voice threatened to crack. He assisted his brother up again, now, he was nearly supporting all the weight of his twin. He pushed through the insomnia induced exhaustion, because he knew, that every second that Stan was out in the freezing snow decreased his chance of survival. “Just- please- just… just hang on a little longer. I’ll get you nice and warm, okay?”

Stan saw the wooden house up ahead. It was so close to him, he could almost feel himself stretching out next to his brother by a soothing warm fire. Just a few more steps. But he couldn’t do it. His body was shutting down, defying his brain screaming to keep moving. He was too weak to even shiver, his heart slowing to accommodate the peaceful weather. He didn’t even feel cold anymore, just… very, very, very tired. His eyes drooped. His nose felt like each breath was boiling water, scalding his lungs. His mouth was an icy furnace, stabbing cherry red blades that stung like ice into his throat. And his ears began to buzz, so that the last thing he heard was Ford’s panicked voice begging him to stay a  w   a    k     e      .

The next time Stan woke up, he knew was, somehow in a very innate way, was delirious. He tried to process everything that was happening around him. He was lying down. There was someone standing above him, that never was good. That person reached his hand towards him, red flags everywhere. Stan instinctively flinched away, as the only physical contact he’s had the last ten years was people trying to harm him. He tried to move away but found something heavy was tucked around him restricting his arms to his side. He began to attempt a frantic thrash, but found his arms would not respond and would barely move.

“Lie still, Stanley.”

Stan continued his feeble attempts to move. But he was so weak, he knew it was a pointless endeavor. A hand touched his face. He whimpered expecting to be hurt.

“Shh, shh, shh, Stanley, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

The hand… it didn’t cause him any pain. First time for everything. In fact, it felt like it was gently stroking him. It felt warm compared to his deathly cold cheek. He found that he liked it.

Stan slowly came to the realization that the thing on top of him was a blanket. Did this person give him the blanket? Maybe this person meant him no harm. Even if he did, Stan wasn’t strong enough to fight him. So, he kept still and offered no further resistance.

“Please open your mouth.”

It was a simple command, there could not be any harm in fulfilling the request, right? So, Stan obligingly opened his mouth, and only five minutes later did it occur to him how dumb that may have been in nearly any other situation. Something metallic was put in his mouth. It held a hot liquid that went down his throat. It tasted good, and it warmed his stomach, making him feel like he ate a hamster. If you did eat a hamster ever, you would know that it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. But it was not a hamster. He could tell because it was not fuzzy, just warm. It was… soup… he was being fed soup. Was he sick? He couldn’t be sick. He wasn’t the one who got sick, that was always…

“Stanford…” The name came weakly from his lips. That’s who was with him: Stanford.

“It’s me, Stanley. I’m here,” Ford continued to feed Stan until he broke until a coughing fit. The soup dribbled down his face. He used a napkin to wipe his brother’s mouth. He thought maybe that was enough food for now.

“Ford, I…”

“Shh…” Ford pressed his finger to Stan’s lips. “Go back to sleep. You need your rest.”

Stan immediately obeyed Ford’s order to sleep. Stan’s breaths came out more smoothly. His skin also felt warmer now too.

Stan had lost consciousness when they arrived at his house. His breathing had been heavily labored and his skin nearly as cold as the ice outside. Because of the stormy blizzard, Ford obviously would not be able to get him to a doctor, so he had to try to nurse his brother back to health himself. He took him to the bedroom and put him under every single last blanket he could find. He only left his side to make him a small soup which he gave him once he was at least somewhat awake.

Though Ford felt better about Stan’s promising prospects, he still stayed by his brother’s side to keep a protective watch over him.

Stan was much more coherent the second time he woke up. He let out a moan prompting Ford to get up closer to his brother.

“Stanley, how are you feeling?”

Ford looked so worried, so anxious. Stan could remember his brother risking his life for him, carrying him, bundling him up, and feeding him. He wasn’t complaining. It was nice to be cared for, to get a warm bed and a hot meal for an exquisite change, but one thing disturbed him…

“Why? Why did you save me?”

“How could you ask such a thing?” He asked, mortified. Ford had been so afraid he was going to lose his brother. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Stan was suicidal after their fight. He would have had to live with the fact that he had pushed his brother over the edge. “Please… don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” He swore. Stan could never do it again, now that he’s seen how much it would hurt Ford. He looked towards his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Ford objected, his voice attempting treason once more. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You were right, I’m selfish. I was so cruel to you. And you almost…almost…” Ford put his hand over his mouth and sobbed.

“Hey, hey, calm down, Sixer. I’m here. I’m alive,” Stan assured his twin. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and gave him a tiny grin. “Thanks to you.”

Ford gave him a small smile and wiped the tears from his eyes, “You should get some rest.”

“Yeah, here…” Stan moved to get up. “I’ll go to the couch so you can-”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Ford ordered, grabbing Stan’s shoulders and made him lay back down. “You’re sleeping here until we get you your own room.”

“My…my own room?”

“Yes, your own room.”

Now, Stan was the one tearing up. “You won’t regret taking me back, Ford. I’ll get a job. I’ll- I’ll get two jobs. I’ll help with your projects. I’ll help around the house. I’ll-”

“Hush now,” Ford cupped his brother’s face. “I don’t care about any of those things. I just need my brother back.”

“I need my brother back too.” Stan put his own hand over Ford’s. “I won’t be a burden, I promise.”

“If you’re going to live in this house, you will never call yourself a burden or anything of the sort again. Is that understood?”

Stan was amused at how much Ford’s scolding reminded him of their mother. “It’s your house.”

“It’s our house now.” Ford grabbed the covers and carefully tucked them around Stan.

“Where will you sleep?” Stan inquired as Ford sat back down in his chair.

“Well,” Ford said softly, adjusting himself in the seat. “I’m staying here just in case.”

“Ford…” he sighed, closing his eyes.

“Don’t worry about me,” Stanford replied nonchalantly with a wave of his hand, hair sticking out in a thousand ways, bags under his eyes, and face unshaven. “I’m perfectly ok.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stan muttered, rolling his eyes. “You need to sleep too, nerd.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Ford insisted.

Stan groaned. And people called him the stubborn one. Then again, he’d probably be doing the same thing if the roles were reversed. If they were reversed… an idea struck him

“Well,” Stan said brightly, implementing his thought. He scooted over and lifted the blanket. “There’s a bed right in front of you.”

“Stanley,” Ford responded slowly and hesitantly. “Um… are you sure?”

“Don’t make this weird,” Stan stated bluntly. “Just get in the bed, Poindexter.”

Ford slowly laid down next to him. He put his arm around Stan and snuggled close to him.

Stan appreciated the affection he had been deprived of for so long. But he did have a reputation to uphold. “At least buy me dinner first.”

“Shut up, knucklehead.”

“Thanks for doing all this for me.” The warmth he felt from his brother’s body drove away the last bit of cold in Stan.

“You’re worth it.”


End file.
